


It feels like apathy has gotten the best of me

by squidded (torncorpse)



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torncorpse/pseuds/squidded
Summary: Daniel isn't sure what it is; purgatory, hell, limbo. Whatever it is, he really wishes he'd stop reliving his brother's wedding night. Especially since nothing he does matters.#yet another time loop fix it fic.
Relationships: Alex Le Domas/Grace Le Domas, Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 18
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is canon typical violence, Daniel's continuing relationship with alcohol, limited Grace/Alex in the sense that Daniel never really lives to figure out his brother is not the one we stan.

The fourth time he dies, choking on his own blood, he thinks _fuck it_.

At first it just felt like a weird sense of déjà vu, like the alcohol might _finally_ be getting to him. He has these moments, flashes of what if, but really he’s sure it’s just the scotch, playing tricks on him. He's dropping the maid into the goat pit, watching his little sister congratulate his little shit of a nephew on shooting a stranger, and he's just so fed up with their fucked up family. That look on her face, those words, it _twists_ something in his gut and he just wonders why the _fuck_ they do this.

He knows. Of course he knows. The rich really are different, and like Charity, so many would die before giving that up. In this family, they’d kill to keep it.

It's weird, how messed up they are, how okay with it they are. 

They're hunting down Alex's new bride and it's just _fine_ , Dad’s still talking about tee time, Emilie is still planning a shopping trip, Mom is still acting like she cares how this’ll affect Alex. 

By the fourth time, when he’s finally figured out this isn’t just some drunken flash, he thinks he can see _something_ flicker across his mother's face, like she's feeling something remotely _human_. It vanishes before Daniel can process it, gone in the flicker of candle light and he drains the glass of scotch in one go. For a second, he considers letting Alex strangle their father that time, a little less enthusiastic about talking Alex out of it, a little less included to save the old man. But Alex can't follow through anyway and they still end up carrying him out of the security room.

Because Alex is the _good son_. Of course he couldn't kill Dad. He's too good, too sheltered, not broken enough.

He wonders if something will change, something will take a turn, it’s the fourth time he's poisoned them at the altar, pulled Grace out of there, listened to her tell him she knew, repeated the same answer time after time, even though he knew he couldn't _not_ help her. He hopes that Alex will be the one that rounds the corner, not his wife. Or Charity will miss, or he'll be able to dodge. But it never changes, and he never wavers, keeping himself in front of Grace, spreading his hands to cover her, trying to talk his wife down. 

He dies on the floor again, blood heavy in his throat, metallic and cloying, watching Grace run again. She'll find Alex, they'll escape, Alex will save her. It repeats in his head, as his eyes grow heavy, the blood tastes thicker, as darkness pulls at him.

Alex will save her.

* * *

He's sighing before Grace even turns over the card. Fingers itching to throw the box and all those cards into the fireplace and watch them burn. Instead, his fingers loosen on his glass as his head drops to the table, his mutter lost against the wood, everyone just rolling their eyes as his _dramatics_.

He must be in hell. That must be it. Repeating this night over and over and _over_ again. No end in sight, dealing with Dad and his insanity, with his cold bitch of a wife, with his sister and her inability to not just _shoot_ randomly.

Trying to help Alex, do the right thing, burn this whole fucking shit show to the ground, _failing_. Like everything else. His punishment is to relive it constantly, stand between his wife and his sister-in-law and _die_.

It's all he can come up with.

So he skips the hunt, goes straight to the study, lets Clara get shot, lets someone else deal with his neurotic sister, and leaves someone else to clean up the mess. He just sits and stares at that stupid fucking painting of his dad, drinking straight from the bottle.

Grace still stumbles into the room, stopping dead when she sees him. His rifle is laid on the pool table, they both glance at it before Daniel just waves his hand. "Help yourself." He's so drunk he wouldn't be able to fire it now anyway, he'd be a worse shot than Emilie, the thought makes him snort into the bottle.

"Was it what you pictured?" He half wonders how Alex gets her out, wishes he could ask, wonders what happens to the rest of them, if Grace kills his bitch of a wife after she fucking shoots him in the throat.

She's still pressed to the wall, panting harshly, probably saw Emilie shoot out Clara's head already, realised that her in-laws are fucking insane. God, what a night.

"Daniel," he's used to the script, but he's just so tired. "You have to help me, _please_." He half wonders what might happen, if she gets out sooner, if she doesn't get shot by Georgie in the barn, if Stevens doesn't catch her to bring her back. What might happen then?

"Kay," he's slurring, and he can see the shock on her face, Daniel failing to stand up twice before he shakes himself. "You hide over there," he points in the direction of the curtains, "I'll unlock the windows." Maybe Alex was already in the security room, trying to turn on the cameras, trying to find Grace. He could send them off together, they could escape this messed up life.

He stumbles towards the door, changing things up as she scrambles to hide behind the obnoxious drapes.

Daniel gets as far as the staircase when heat and pain blossom all up his side, the sharp echo of a gunshot reverberating around the hall. "Fuck." He's sprawled on the hard wood stairs when Emilie appears over him, frantically crying her way through apologies before she summons their parents. He’s half aware of her leaning over him, like she did with Clara, petting at his hair while blood gurgles up his throat. She’s still doing it when he hears their parents, hears the soft, “Oh, Emilie.” He chokes, spits and paints her face with his blood before it’s over, but there’s no real pain in it.

At least it wasn't Charity.

* * *

Some part of him wants to take the gun away from Emilie. Or at least take her bullets, because _fuck_. He doesn't go straight to the study, doesn't start tanking the scotch, he follows the script again, rather unwilling to see the disappointment in his parents expressions when they realised he'd been mortally wounded by their daughter -it wasn't sadness, it wasn't grief. They were _exasperated_.

He half wishes he was used to the disappointment, that it didn't sting anymore. But even in a drunk haze, even in the midst of a stupid hunt for his sister-in-law, it was still smarting that they were that fed up with him. He’s used to the comments, the passive disinterest from their father, he can cover it up with jokes and sarcasm and snark, but he can’t exactly lie to himself when each jab just pokes deeper.

If his parents had maybe been proud of him for more than just that _one_ time he sealed a man's fate, it'd be _great_. 

He still meets Grace in the study, still gives her the veiled apologies, gives her the ten second head start, "Don't head for the kitchen." Because he doesn't want to risk Emilie actually hitting her either. Grace stops at the door for a second before going and Daniel starts his count, ending up with almost fifteen seconds before he draws his family to the study.

He forgets about Tina until the arrow is flying through her face, Emilie screeching her upset. She has the highest body count in their family, and all of it is accidental. Daniel just sighs as he drains his glass.

"Do you need to do that?" His mother's tone sets his teeth on edge, but rather than sigh, put the drink away, appease her like he normally would, like he has every other time, Daniel keeps eye contact with her, pouring another two fingers into the glass as he does so. She looks mad, eyes narrowing into a glare, and he's sure something is going to be said before dear old Dad takes the floor with another epic meltdown.

They are so fucked up.

He lets Grace get shot by Georgie, lets her get caught by Stevens, lets her crash and gives her the concussion. He still poisons his family, a little extra in the hopes that maybe it’ll slow down Charity, still gets Grace out, still gets shot, still bleeds out on the floor. Still doesn’t end it all.

* * *

He wonders if it matters.

If he's just going to repeat the night over, and over and over, does any of it matter?

He tests the theory by killing Fitch. He's the easiest, the least connected, he's sure Emilie won't even notice. Daniel finds him watching those tutorials on the crossbow and just huffs, "Oh, yeah, there's a trick to it. Lemme show you." It takes nothing to loose an arrow into Fitch's eye socket, pinning him to the wall.

The floor of his stomach drops out after a second though, hands starting to shake and Daniel has to calmly put the crossbow down and back away, returning to the study, finding solace in the bottle of scotch again. Helene finds Fitch, somewhere between Grace escaping outside and Stevens calling to bring her back. Next time he's going to kill the butler first, asshole that he is.

They're freaking out about Fitch, mother comforting Emilie, even though she never liked Fitch, and Daniel is sent off to help Stevens get Grace back inside. He already knows the car will crash, so he goes straight to the ditch, just as Grace climbs out. "Daniel, please, you're a good guy."

There's a part of him that wishes she wouldn't. He's not a good guy, he just... He just can't hurt Alex like this. "Can you still run?" She seems to deflate a little, still shocked he'll help her, but she nods. It'll be important, if he can't do this, if he can't...

Dad steps out from his hiding spot, spitting yet more curses at Grace, repeating the usual at Daniel -he's the fuck up, the disappointment, would he rather see his family dead? Somewhere in there, Daniel pulls the trigger on the rifle, the gunshot loud in the near silent woods. All three of them freeze, shocked and expectant.

"You little shit." The weapon drops just as Tony falls and with an exhale of breath Daniel feels the scotch from earlier climb up his throat. He's hunched over, vomiting in the woods near his father's corpse with his sister-in-law hugging him from behind, rubbing what has to be her mangled hand over his back.

She's whispering condolences and thanks over and over and Daniel knows the gunshot will have drawn attention, they don't have time for this. "You have to go, keep running, I'll tell Alex, you can... you can meet in town or something." They just have to get out of there, without the hounds following them.

She runs. He stares at the corpse of his father.

He’s honestly surprised with himself. He’s not that stupid to not know he still wants his father’s approval. All his life it’s all he’s wanted. But Daniel was the black sheep, from the start. He didn’t want to slaughter goats, didn’t want to go into business, didn’t want to worship Satan. So he got a degree in economics, and grudgingly worked for the company, but never anything important, Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled with Daniel’s choices or habits -the drinking, the parties, the attitude, the women. Alex was the good one, the perfect son, the ideal heir. Daniel just fucked up at every turn, and Tony made sure to tell Daniel so. 

He’d always just taken it, tried to shrug it off, thrown out a sarcastic quip or done something stupid to prove their point. He’d never really stood up and claimed not to be a fuck up. He’s not sure that murdering his father proves that either.

Returning to the house is the mistake, maybe… Charity still shoots him, he’s lying in the foyer when he thinks he can hear Grace screaming, but that shouldn’t be possible, she got away. She was meant to get away.

* * *

He’s starting to think that it doesn’t matter what he does, he still dies and it still starts over. Most of the time, it’s Charity. He thinks that’s some kind of special torture; his wife constantly killing him over and over again.

It makes it harder to remember back to a time when he loved her, _if_ he ever loved her. He knew that part of it was parental pressure. He’d broken up with every girl before her when things got serious, when hints were dropped, when the question of meeting his parents came up. Until he was sternly reminded of _expectations_. So he’d told her, bought a ring, presented it and told her on the spot, if they did this, she might be hunted down and killed.

She’d taken the ring and slipped it on, cold and proud. They played chess on the night of their wedding, Aunt Helene looked disappointed, his mother actually looked _proud_ of him. It lasted until the morning after at least.

He thinks they were happy, for a very brief moment, right afterwards. Before the drinking got serious, before she got jaded. It might’ve lasted until their honeymoon was over, or maybe until the first goat sacrifice. He honestly doesn’t even remember saying his vows, or what she wore.

The memories are almost sickening, as he gargles on his own blood again, hears Grace’s whispered ‘thank you’ before her high tops squeak off down the hall.

The next time around, Emilie kills him again, bullet right in the chest and he bleeds out in Alex’s arms, Emilie wailing in the hall before they’ve even gotten two hours into the night. 

It doesn’t suck less.

* * *

Sanity seems fleeting. 

It feels like _months_. He’s been doing this so many times it’s like the wedding was so long ago that he’s forgotten what dinner even tasted like. He’s been annoyingly sober lately, hasn’t really drank much since he shot his father. Trauma is shockingly sobering. It’s not like it numbs the death anyway.

He goes to the kitchen to grab some leftovers, not hungry but at the same time starving. Stevens glances at him, disdainful and dismissive, while he’s pilfering through the fridge. They both stop what they’re doing at Grace’s appearance, Stevens going still when they both spot the elephant rifle and the prop ammunition. Stevens is a taunting fucker as Grace points her weapon.

There’s a sense of satisfaction in stabbing the kitchen knife into Stevens’ throat before he gets too close to Grace, “I never liked him.” Honestly, Stevens was too far up Tony’s ass for anyone to like him.

Grace is pressed against the wall, hand over her mouth, holding in the scream. Daniel points the strawberry he’s half eaten at her, “That’s fake, by the way.” Although she looks super badass with the ammo belt around her, rifle in hand. She’s still shocked, stunned speechless by his casual murder of the butler. But the lock clicks on the door and Daniel steps aside, sitting to finish the desert he pulled from the fridge. Alex is helping her, she’ll be fine.

He’s a tiny bit annoyed when Fitch hits him in the gut with the crossbow bolt that time.

* * *

He’s a little unsure what makes him do it, but the next time he finds her in the study he presses Charity’s gun into her hand. “Just… just humour me.” He pours the drink, almost out of habit, but doesn’t pick it up.

“Why are you helping me?” She doesn’t sound ungrateful, just confused, as she hugs the gun to her chest, still trying to get her breathing under control.

“I just don’t want to be the one to take away Alex’s hope.” It’s always for Alex, hell, everything _good_ that Daniel tries is for Alex. It’s his duty, as a big brother, to protect his siblings. Emilie is almost a lost cause, try as he might. She’s daddy’s little girl, which shields her from a lot of shit, and she has those boys, she’s fulfilled her duty. He’s always tried to protect Alex from the shittiest stuff in their family, even though he was just as much a part of it, Daniel likes to think he did well enough that there’s still good in Alex, that he got out, that he can still get out with Grace and live a happy life.

So he plays this one close to the first ones, gives Grace the head start, she shoots Stevens but somehow is still caught in the woods and dragged back to the house. He lets the ritual start out like always, waits for the poison to hit before he cuts the ties on Grace and pulls her out with him, heading for the garage -his dad has this stupid classic car outside, it’s old as shit but that means no on board computers. She can escape in that.

Charity still stops them, but there’s no gun, because he already gave that to Grace.

It stuns him cold to discover he still can’t hit her, there’s a blind moment of vulnerability on her face before the rage is there, but Grace steps around him and since there’s no gun, he doesn’t stop her. Charity’s nose breaks with a crack, she falls hard and Daniel doesn’t think twice about stepping over her, dragging Grace with him.

His mother shoots him with an arrow.

An arrow.

It lands in his shoulder, the pain bursting bright and hard, shocking him almost as much as the fact that his _mother_ just shot him with an _arrow_. She’s drawing back another before either he or Grace can move, but it’s Alex’s shout that pauses her.

Daniel’s never lived this far into the night, he’s always been killed before now, bleeding out somewhere in this stupid fucking house. He figures this is the moment though, when Alex gets Grace out of there, talks down their mother, runs off again, gets out.

There’s a lot more stalling than he’s entirely comfortable with.

The blood is pounding in his ears, soaking his shirt and he’s half sure that something has hit an artery. He doesn’t bring this up, the glint in his mother’s eyes warns him not to. Alex is hesitating though, Becky getting those pristine talons back into her angelic son, their perfect little boy, and Daniel goes cold the moment he sees it. He’s slumped against the wall when Alex drags Grace back to their Satanic worshipping family, Becky slowly closing the door to lock Daniel in where he was, no more interruptions from him.

Not that he could move.

All those times, all the death, all the attempts to _save Grace_ , for Alex, for his little brother. And Alex is the one giving her to them? The world just falls out from under him, everything he’d believed about Alex just crumbling under the weight of it.

What was all this for if it wasn’t for Alex?

* * *

It’s a battle not to punch Alex.

Back in the game room, Grace picking her card, still so pristine, still of hopeful, and Daniel just wants to punch his brother in the face.

When Daniel was nine, he and Alex had their first actual fight with fists and screaming and yelling. It was the first and only time they’d seriously hit each other, Daniel ending up with a bloody lip and Alex with a black eye. It took two hours for Alex to find him, sobbing and apologising and begging Danny not to hate him.

Daniel spent every day after that protecting Alex from their family bullshit. Hiding the more serious stuff as they got older, deflecting what he couldn’t, shouldering more so that Alex didn’t have to. He’d been so sure that it would protect Alex from the stain that this family left, stop him from being as broken and rotten as the rest of them. Let Alex keep some of his soul.

To find out that it was all for nothing breaks something in him.

He spends the whole night in the study, working his way through all of his father’s alcohol. There’s a lot of yelling when they discover him, asking him if Grace has been in there but he couldn’t answer even if he tried.

It’s pointless. There’s no point to any of this. All the things he’s tried, all the times he’s died, and Alex is the one that fails Grace? He doesn’t get her out, doesn’t keep her safe, doesn’t escape their family. It’s beyond fucked up that this is his existence now. Just reliving this bullshit night for the rest of eternity.

“Daniel.” She still finds him, of course, lying on top of the pool table, drunk enough it’s hard to even see straight, “Shit, Daniel, you have to help me.”

“‘M tryin’.” And that’s the kicker, isn’t it. He really has been trying to help her, to get her out, to save her from this insanity and their fucked up family. The only thing he’s really _tried_ to do right in fuck knew how long, and he’s cocking it up every fucking time. Someone finds her or she gets caught or… “Oh hey,” if they don’t find her, if no one can find her before dawn, maybe… maybe that’ll end all this shit. “Go… Go hide in my room, no one’ll look there.” A little epiphany in the haze of drunken stupor. “Yeah, it’s jus’ down the hall from Alex’s room, take the… the maids passage.” His hand is waving in a general direction, somewhere he thinks there’s a hidden door for the hallway behind the halls. Fucking rich people.

“Daniel, you have to get me out of here.” She’s still panicking, which is fair, her in-laws are trying to murder her. Has Clara died? Clara probably died, that’d be why she’s freaking out.

“No, doesn’t work, you gotta hide.” Because if she’s outside, Georgie shoots her, and Stevens catches her, and she crashes a car, and he poisons the family, and then his wife shoots him. Best to just hide, “I’ll distract them.”

He has no idea when she goes, if she follows his directions, but there’s the soft sounds of whispers and his family hunting through the house. Charity finds him at one point, “You’re pathetic.” He just gives her the thumbs up and struggles to raise his head long enough to finish the scotch.

He thinks he passes out for a while, until a hand is shaking at his shoulder, “Daniel, Danny, you gotta help, Danny.” Alex’s blurry face comes into view as he pulls Daniel up off the pool table, frantic and worked up. 

Daniel still wants to punch him.

“It’s nearly dawn, you have to help,” He wonders if this was always going to be Alex’s path, too close to mother, too high up on a pedestal, too sheltered. He has the chance to escape and he’s prepared to just throw it away and sell his soul for eternity. Maybe Daniel really is the black sheep. “We need to find Grace.” And sacrifice her, kill her, slaughter another innocent person not tarnished by their stain.

“Okay,” he lets Alex pull him off the table, aware that there isn’t enough time to complete the ritual anyway so, why bother being awkward about it? Maybe this time he’ll get to dawn and they’ll all die and then he’ll get some peace. “Where are---”

There’s a click, and a soft wet sound and then Daniel can’t get anything past his throat. It doesn’t hurt, although his lungs burn a little, but the tacky wet against his throat, his legs giving out, nothing hurts. Alex cradles his head on the ground and Emilie appears, crossbow in hand, looking devastated.

Fucking Emilie again.

He dies on the floor of the study, can’t hear anything Alex is saying, doesn’t feel anything and just hopes maybe this is the last time.

* * *

Grace turns over the card, a nervous smile on her face.

“I’m out.” He can still kind of feel the blood on his neck, wet and cloying and cooling. He just pushes away and goes to the couch, flopping there in a sprawl, “I’m done, not playing.” He’s so over this bullshit. _Surely_ Grace escaped last time, and he’s still doing this. Obviously it’s a rigged game, _obviously_. It’s not like the Devil is going to fucking play fair, is he?

“You don’t like Hide and Seek?” Grace is confused, the rest of them look like they’ll choke the life out of him themselves, he’s almost sure that there’s some colour to Aunt Helene right then, but it might just be the glare of the fire against her face.

“Fuckin’ hate it,” which isn’t a lie. Even if this is the first time, technically, that the card has been pulled since Aunt Helene’s wedding night. Figuring out what happened to Uncle Charles was more than enough to turn him off, thank you. Dad’s teeth are grinding so hard that Daniel can see it from across the room, his mother stands, about to cross the room and Alex… God he still looks like he wants to pretend this is _fine_. “I especially hate the ritualistic murder at the end.”

Chaos erupts. It’d be amusing to see, normally. Becky and Tony having one of their hushed arguments that were never hushed, Alex trying to explain to a shocked and confused Grace just what Daniel’s talking about, Emilie, Fitch and Charity just sitting there, not sure what to do. Aunt Helene is trying to murder him with her eyes, but that’s not new.

Daniel’s happy to just sit there, watch this one unfold with all the cards laid out on the table, see how they explain it to Grace, how they logic out his drunk outburst. The fire flares a little, smoke rolling out, no one flinches. Some of the flames lick up the side of the fireplace, around the portraits, reaching outwards. Still, no one pays attention.

Huh.

The first time was the year following Uncle Charles’ game. They killed the goat, performed their duty, Aunt Helene was still somewhat remorseful of the events from the year previous, Emilie was still hesitant about it all. He and Alex had been left to put away the knife and the goblet and all that crap when the fireplace had flared and for a second, just a second, Daniel had seen him.

It was your stereotypical devil with a top hat look, so he wasn’t even sure what it was, but he still told Alex. He expected to be laughed at, expected Alex to tell him to stop trying to scare him, instead he was encouraged to tell their parents. “They won’t believe me.” Which they wouldn’t, because Daniel was already quite clearly not the son they wanted him to be. He was surly and he answered back and he asked too many questions.

He’d figured that would be the end of it, their little secret, just him and Alex.

Two nights later and Becky and Tony are explaining to Aunt Helene how Alex saw Mr. Le Bail in his seat, Alex witnessed him. It flipped a switch in Aunt Helene, and Alex was clearly soaking up the praise, and honestly, Daniel didn’t really care. He wasn’t drawn by the need to correct them, to ask Alex why he lied, he didn’t want the attention. So he didn’t tell Alex when it happened again, didn’t say anything to anyone when Emilie and Fitch got married and they had the dullest game of Old Maid on the planet and Daniel caught sight of an amused looking spectre sitting by the fire.

He let Aunt Helene babble about _the chosen one_ and push for Becky and Tony to keep him close and quietly ignored that the devil kept haunting him. Everyone knew that Alex was going to be the one to take over the company after Tony anyway.

This is the first time he’s looked more solid, the first time the image has lingered, not just a flash of ‘did you see me’, but a full on approach to where Daniel sits, surrounded by squabbling family members. Mr. Le Bail shakes his head, expression fondly annoyed, and Daniel thinks maybe it’s a bad thing that there’s more fondness on the devil's face than his parents ever direct at him.

“I’m done.” He’s never tried to talk to the spectre before, never been that far gone that having a conversation with a figment of his imagination has seemed like a good idea. He’s pretty sure his parents would happily label him ‘troubled’ and cart him off somewhere. Less to deal with that way. But he’s relived this fucking wedding so many times, and he’s just _done_. He never makes it to dawn, he never knows how many times Alex betrays Grace, never gets to see if she makes it.

He’d thought the point was saving Alex, getting Grace and Alex away so they could have that stupid fairytale ending. Alex was meant to be the one that got out, he was meant to be the good one. But Daniel isn’t sure if that’s true anymore. And maybe that’s been the point, Daniel figuring out that his little brother isn’t as clean in all this as Daniel let himself believe. That Alex is just as fucked up as them.

But Mr. Le Bail just smirks at him, a shake of the head and Daniel feels the weight of the world just pinned on his shoulders. He can’t keep doing this, he’s going to lose what’s left of his mind at this rate and then what? Will that be enough? “What do you want?”

He kind of hears all the commotion die down, can sense that someone is paying attention to him, but he’s firmly focused on Le Bail, because if this can get him out of whatever hell this night is, playing it over and over, if he can just figure out what he’s meant to do, maybe it’ll stop. Le Bail looks over at Grace, who is pulling away from Alex again, as Alex pleads with her to just listen. Daniel follows the gaze, ignores his mother’s question and feels something _click_.

It’s not about _them_. It’s not about him or Alex or their stupid shitty family. It’s about her.

Alex never told her, she came in blind. Not like Charity; who knew what she was getting into and wanted the name and the money and the status more than she cared about her soul. Not like Fitch; idiotic, bumbling Fitch, who was so enamoured with Emilie and moving up in the world that he didn’t care what it meant. Not like Becky; Southern Belle Becky who was never blue blooded enough for his grandparents to approve, but she was going to show them anyway.

Grace walked into the lion's den, thinking she was safe, thinking they were going to protect her, thinking she was finally part of a family that would accept her. Grace never stood a chance, and maybe that’s not Mr. Le Bail’s thing, maybe he needs them to know, to understand, or it doesn’t work. And there’s Grace, in her pristine white dress, foolishly hopeful and stupidly in love.

“Oh,” everyone is paying attention to him again, he bristles a little under the attention, but at least now he knows what’s at stake, what he’s doing. “One more time?” Le Bail smirks at him, tipping his hat and vanishing, just as Mom starts towards him, heels clicking harshly on the grossly expensive floor.

One more time.

* * *

It takes two more times.

The first one he goes off script, tries to get to Alex’s room first and just get Grace out there without all the shit that happens afterward. Emilie shoots him in the head, it’s by far the least painful way he’s died but _fuck_ it still sucks.

* * *

This time he figures maybe Grace needs to learn something too, even if it sucks that part of that is getting shot by Georgie and having to fight for her life. Daniel stops by the kids room first, Georgie’s already gone and Clara’s about to leave to find him. “Hey, um… I’ll find Georgie, can you get Tina and Dora, we need Aunt Helene’s stupid fucking chest from the attic.” Clara looks confused but agrees, getting the other two maids to head into the attic with her. It’ll take them at least a few hours to get that fucking chest out of the back of the attic, they won’t be able to get it down, but the point is none of them are in the way to get killed by his lunatic sister.

The next step is finding Charity’s purse, taking the bullets from her gun because _fuck_ he’s not getting shot in the throat again. He doubles back around to the study, entering and finding Grace standing there. So something has still happened to panic her, wonder who Emilie managed to almost murder, or actually murder. “I just came for a drink.”

She still asks him for help, he wonders absently what he did during the day to make her feel like she could trust him like this, like he’ll be the one who can help her. Probably his unguarded affection for Alex. It must be what makes her think he’s her best chance. He gives her the head start, calls his family to him.

He still finds her at the crash, still brings her back. He adds a little more poison, because fuck his family. “I knew you’d help me.” She looks at him with that spark of hope, like she genuinely thinks he’s this good guy, it makes him more uncomfortable than he’d care to admit.

It’s refreshing to see the fear in Charity’s eyes when the gun just clicks, no bullets. He can’t risk Grace getting caught by Mom this time, Daniel barely thinking about it before he grabs the gun and knocks his wife out. “Sorry babe, but you signed up for this.” He’s getting Grace out, that’s what matters, that’s all that matters.

They move right through the study, into the game room and Daniel barely catches sight of his mom before the arrow is flying, slicing into his neck and he shouts as he goes down. No, no, no, not this time, it wasn’t meant to…

Grace wastes time trying to help him, because she’s a fucking good person, but her hands are slippery with blood and Alex comes up behind her. He’s delirious from the blood loss as Alex pulls her out of the room, their mother following behind. No, he’s not going to let this happen, he can’t. The arrow sliced through his throat, not as bad as Charity’s bullet. Charity’s bullets.

He’s fumbling in his pocket for the bullets he took from his wife’s gun, fingers numb and clumsy, but he gets some in the gun, pulls himself out of the room, down the hall. He practically falls in the door as his family chant, Alex standing over a screaming Grace, knife above his head and fuck, how had Daniel never seen this?

Shaking, he manages to shoot, dinging Alex in the shoulder, enough to startle everyone and Grace rolls from the table, grabbing the knife, screaming at them like some furious, wild animal. Alex looks so betrayed but… Daniel can’t bring himself to fucking care. They deserve this, they deserve everything that’s coming but Grace, fuck, Grace never agreed to any of this. It’s a standoff, no one moving until Aunt Helene lets out a wail, turning to the windows and pulling open the drapes.

The sun is up, it’s dawn, he fucking made it to dawn and everyone is alive -well, aside from Fitch, but fuck it was about time someone else got murdered by their spouse. He doesn’t expect Aunt Helene to declare that Grace still dies, turning towards her, axe raised and then…

She explodes in a mist of blood and muscle and bone and _fuck_. He wasn’t expecting that, the collection of family, one after the other, popping like particularly messy zits, Daniel practically falls over from the blood loss, shock and the adrenaline crash.

He’s dimly aware of his father’s yelling before he’s gone, and then it’s just him and Alex and Grace. This was meant to be the end goal, it was meant to be Alex and Grace, coming through the flames, riding off into the sunset, but Grace just stares through Alex, his pleading and begging and apologising just making a fool of himself.

Alex probably thinks it’ll work, he’s gotten his way at every step, and Daniel knows he’s part of the problem there. He’d believed that Alex could do no wrong, he’d just excused his actions all the time, because Alex was the good one. But Grace slips the ring off her finger, throws it and tells Alex she wants a divorce and his brother is gone, in a mist of viscera just like everyone else.

Daniel can’t help the soft grunt, because for all his faults, Alex was still his little brother. It draws Grace’s attention, she gives him a sad but grateful smile and Daniel manages one back, “Told you, you don’t belong in this family.” It feels like he told her years ago, not mere hours previously, but the point still stands.

“Daniel,” she moves towards him, just as the fire flares up, smoke billowing around the seat there, Mr. Le Bail tipping his hat at Daniel with that same smirk and Daniel just thinks, “Fuck.” Grace says it aloud, stopped in her tracks and Daniel can _hear_ the sirens in the distance.

This is it? He’s not… Why isn’t he… It doesn’t make sense that they would all be killed but he…

Maybe it’s the loop, he was the only one dealing with that, maybe he’s just going to bleed out from the neck wound anyway. Grace is pulling him outside though, his arm over her shoulder and they make it to the steps in the garden, where Grace and Alex were married less than a day ago. Daniel gives up trying to reason it out, lying prone on the ground while Grace lights one of his mother’s cigarettes from her flashy gold case.

It feels like an anti-climax, after everything. But it’s so fucking good to see the sky again.

“I hate hide and seek.” He almost chokes on his laugh, remembering he is still bleeding from the throat.

“Me too.” It’s all that’s left to say, as paramedics and firefighters swarm the house, Grace and Daniel being pulled into ambulances, the good drugs finally hitting his system.

It’s over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of both the wedding, and Daniel's time loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on this going in a specific direction. It did not.
> 
> Chapter warning for unresolved trauma, casual acceptance of alcoholism and some dark imagery (canon typical).

He doesn’t see Grace again after they reach the hospital.

He doesn’t hold it against her, she was a mess, he was a mess. Who would want to see that? They’d explained what they could on the ambulance ride, glossing over the exploding people and Satanic deal. Instead the official story was that his parents disapproved, but waited until after the wedding and tried to kill Grace, Daniel got in the way so he got shot in the neck in the fray. He leaves Grace to decide what she wants to tell people about Alex, Daniel neglecting to mention the loops because he’d rather just not go to any kind of mental care home, thank you.

His neck is stitched up, they call it lucky, an inch over and he would’ve died. Maybe he should be glad it was his mother who shot him and not his wife then. He’s released three days later, when they aren’t worried about muscle complications, he can keep liquid foods down and his iron count is normal. He finds out that Grace had asked for a transfer already, after her initial wounds were treated, she asked to go somewhere else for them to deal with her hand. He doesn’t comment on it.

There’s no fault in it. Grace only knows him as the alcoholic almost-brother-in-law who hit on her and had enough decency not to let his family murder her. It was only one day for her, one hellish, horrible, traumatic day. He wouldn’t want the reminders either.

It’s why he doesn’t go home. Not to any of the Le Domas estates, not to any of their vacation homes, he doesn’t return to the fancy home he had with Charity either. His first few nights are spent in a suite in a hotel he prefers in New York, one that’s used to him either just showing up or avoiding his wife, it doesn’t seem like the news has covered the family massacre just yet and he’s left to himself for a few days. He’s drunk for most of it, mixing light alcohol with painkillers at least lets him get a few hours of sleep where he doesn’t remember the dreams. When the media frenzy starts he buys a penthouse in Manhattan with a view of the park, its all windows and high ceilings, modern and sleek, sharp angles everywhere. 

His parents would’ve hated it.

Sleep is fitful and rarely restful, every time he closes his eyes he sees his mother firing an arrow at him, Alex over Grace with a knife, Charity with a gun. So he drinks himself into a black out, throws up, deals with the hangover, starts again.

He’s fairly certain he’s dropped the functioning part of being a functioning alcoholic.

The entire company passes to him, and Daniel laughs himself sick at that. Tony would be rolling in his grave, if there’d been enough of him to bury. The lawyers start to go over how they can screw Grace out of her portion of the estate; she was barely married to Alex, they can argue that it wasn’t binding, no consummation. Daniel tells them to get fucked and gives her half.

It’s three days after that, about two weeks since the wedding, he’s coming around on the sofa with a trill of his phone piercing through consciousness. “H’lo?” He hasn’t been sober for most of those two weeks, the lawyers are used to that, he’s sure they’re giving him the benefit of mourning with a bottle right then.

“I don’t want your money.” Her voice is cutting, but somehow still uplifting, breaking through something of the haze for a moment. She sounds exactly like she had right before the wedding. Daniel’s got a scratch in his voice right now, every time he talks it’s like swallowing glass. She sounds determined, still full of that ‘fuck you’ attitude she had.

“What?” Daniel’s still half out of it, doesn’t catch on too fast, but that’s always been his problem, hasn’t it.

“The money, I don’t want it.” Of course she doesn’t, because unlike Charity, Grace wasn’t a fucking gold digger. He can tell that she’ll argue with anything he says -like she deserved it, she earned it, Alex would’ve wanted her to have it. It all dies before he can utter a single word of it.

“Grace don’t make me argue with lawyers please,” he knows he’s putting a bit too much of a whine into his voice, it wouldn’t take much, really. The lawyers all thought they could make a good case to cut Grace out entirely, stop her inheriting any of Alex’s portion. But with Alex dead, and Emilie and her children dead, it’s just Daniel, and what the fuck does he want with the entire Le Domas dominion? The company lawyers are still very used to Tony’s mantra of fuck everyone else, while he hoarded wealth and status. “Start a charity or give it away or _something_.”

If anyone can do something good with his family’s money, it would be Grace. He knows that she’s probably got a fuck load of medical bills from that night, probably needs so much therapy it’s ridiculous, but he can see her starting some organisation to help kids, or fund soup kitchens or something. And not just doing it for the tax deductions.

“How am I meant to give away several _billion_ dollars, Daniel?” He doesn’t really love the tone when she says his name, flashes of Becky and her disapproval bleeding in, the way her voice would just drip with disdain, her eyes hard with displeasure. 

“Well I’ll just drink it. And then you’ll get the whole lot when my liver gives out.” He’s pretty sure that’s a sooner rather than later scenario, but it’s far more honest that he wanted to be. He can hear the pause on the other end, Grace weighing it up.

“Okay,” at least he can leave her with something, knowing that she’s not going to be struggling with dealing and worrying about money. He heard somewhere that people without money often had that trouble. It’s silent for a while, and then, like she’s remembered he’s still there she asks, soft and low, “How are you?”

Since his hospital discharge, he hasn’t had a proper night's sleep. The last night of sleep he’d gotten without drinking was the day before discharge, when they had him so high on morphine his parents could’ve been haunting him and he wouldn’t have noticed nevermind cared. Since then it’s been drinking and nightmares and wild mood swings when he both hates everyone and misses them terribly. 

He hates those periods the most. The headaches about the breakdowns are worse than the hangovers.

“I’m fine.” He’s not going to put that on her though, she was the one dealing with in-laws trying to murder her, she doesn’t know the rest, and he’s not telling her it either. “You?”

“Fine.” So they’re both okay lying to the other, and it seems fitting. “Take care, Daniel.” It’s almost sincere, possibly the most sincere thing he’s heard since the wedding.

“Bye Grace.” He doesn’t expect to hear from her again, but he still saves the number in his phone anyway.

* * *

He plans to get through Emilie’s birthday with a lot of tequila.

There’s a spread in a few of the tabloid magazines, going over the previous parties that Emilie had thrown, remembering the socialite and her vivacious love of being the centre of attention. Logic defies him, the headline almost screaming at him, the small picture of Emilie’s smiling face on the cover; Daniel makes the masochistic choice to pick two different magazines up on his trip out to the liquor store. There are pictures from Emilie’s various parties, a masquerade one she’d thrown for her 25th, before any of them were married, the year before Emilie had Georgie. A few pictures from her recent parties, one with Fitch in it, one of Emilie and Mom. The main image, with the story on Emilie Le Domas being taken too soon is of the three of them; Daniel and Alex flanking Emilie, arms over her shoulders, drinks in hands, party going on around them. They look happy, they look _normal_.

It’s hard to remember back to when they were _happy_. If they were ever genuinely happy. Most of Daniel’s memories are marred by the constant loop of Alex’s wedding, of the realisation that everything his family touched just rotted away, like the carcasses in the goat pit. He thinks he can remember brief flashes, moments among all the disappointment and oppressive weight of who they were. He remembers being happy at college, even with the low level ache of missing his siblings and worrying about them.

Emilie had always been a little loose in the head, softer than their upbringing should’ve allowed her to be, she never took too much serious. Daniel’s sure the drugs started in high school and that’s pretty much how she just dealt with things. He can’t judge too much, he started flirting with alcoholism at 18.

He doesn’t expect the phone call. He’s half way through his bottle of tequila when her name pops up on his screen, it takes him a few rings to answer, still not sure why she’s calling him. “Hey.” He’s not exactly hiding his drinking at this stage of things. People are aware that he’s a wreck, the only people he really sees are the lawyers now and then, the occasional accountant or family employee. He’s on an indeterminate leave from work, but there’s enough proxies to run the business anyway.

“Hi, Daniel. How are you?” There’s a soft warmth in her voice, he can’t figure that out. Maybe she’s a little drunk too, maybe she’s wrapped up somewhere cosy and warm, with a bottle of wine or champagne. Daniel can’t drink champagne anymore, just the smell makes him sick.

“Peachy,” he falls back on sarcasm as always, it’s not like he can ever claim to have had good coping methods anyway, between the drinking, the sarcasm and flaunting his screw ups at every turn, no, Daniel was never the poster boy for dealing with his shit. Given that his shit was a time loop with the devil, dying a bunch of times and watching his entire family _explode_ he thinks he’s due some leeway on this one. “How’re you?”

He’d rather not talk about him, not have to deal with deflecting all the ways that he’s a mess, not thinking about the fact that his baby sister is dead instead of turning 33 today. He’s pretty sure she was planning to fly to Argentina this year, has vague recollections of her inviting Charity out of obligation -his wife and his sister were never close, they never really voluntarily did things together so he was sure Charity hadn’t been intending on going. If they hadn’t been messed up and crazy, he thinks Grace would’ve been a good sister-in-law for Emilie, maybe a balancing influence. 

“I’m okay, I saw the Enquirer today,” it does explain the call. It wasn’t like his family were celebrities, but they were rich enough that they were occasionally rubbing elbows with them. Daniel grew out of it after college, the vapid parties, the Hollywood glitter. He hated California anyway. Emilie was more enamoured with it, with socialite friends, reality television, after parties with models. She’d lived for the New York celebutante scene.

He’d been a little surprised at the few tweets sent out, the ‘in memory of’ with some pictures of Emilie and her few lower rung celebrity friends. But then he remembered that they think she was the unfortunate victim of his parents, not a Satanist intent on murder, encouraging her boys to normalise human sacrifice.

“Are you-- I mean, do you want to talk?” Talk? About what? About the numerous times his sister shot him? About how fucking proud she was of her kid shooting a stranger? Of how prepared she was for those boys to enter into the same shit they’d grown up with? About the time she’d called him from her school to come and punch her douche of a boyfriend and take her home? About her panicked state when she had to try and hide a pregnancy and marry Fitch before their parents worked out she was up the duff? Maybe Grace would love to hear about Emilie at six, getting Daniel to check all the dark spots in her room for monsters. 

Their childhood wasn’t exactly bad in the strictest sense -poor little rich kids, God he hated that whole shtick. But it was fucked up in it’s own way. Tony might not’ve been overly violent, the odd slap here or there when they’d done something massively stupid -mostly Daniel, infrequently Alex, never Emilie- but they were children the first time they were there for a goat sacrifice, Emilie was nine when they’d first had her do the blood letting.

How did you compute that into a normal or remotely healthy childhood?

In some ways it amazed him that Alex never turned to drugs or alcohol. Maybe it should’ve been clearer. Emilie used drugs to mask everything that went on, she swung violently between one mood and the next, on God knew how many types of drugs at any given time, while he drowned himself in alcohol the moment he figured out it would numb everything.

Alex never did more than dabble in college drugs, a little E at a club here or there, some light drinking, you know, like a healthy fucking adult. He barely flinched at the rituals, even when he said enough was enough and walked away. It wasn’t because he couldn’t deal with reality.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” It seems needlessly cruel, to talk about his dead family with her, his dead family who tried to murder her and sacrifice her to Satan. To her they’re the monsters who ruined what should’ve been the best day of her life. To him… Fuck, to him they were still his family, human and monstrous at the same time.

Maybe that was what made them so monstrous.

“Okay,” it must be his imagination, but she almost sounds disappointed. “Take care.”

He finishes his bottle of tequila and starts on some good old fashioned scotch. He wakes up in the bathroom, head on the toilet, throat raw and tears dried on his cheeks.

* * *

He considers leaving New York.

It’s been three months since Alex’s wedding. He finds it hard to think about it any other way. Not as the death of his family, the end of the legacy, the time loop fuckery. No, it’s just… Alex’s wedding day.

Fateful as it was.

Of course it still feels like longer, given the repeat of everything. He’s still not clear how long that was, how many times he relived it, if it counts. Should he be adding a month to his age? Celebrate his birthday a month earlier? Was it more than that?

Thanksgiving is fast approaching, he decided to ignore Halloween entirely, given the dramatics of their family, Tony and Becky always hosted a Halloween party for the company, a huge, extravagant affair. He’d been called about it, the COO asking if he was putting something together or not. He most certainly was not, and he wasn’t attending _anything_. But he wasn’t about to stop them from having their own party. He doubted it would involve a ritual sacrifice after all. He’s seen some pictures on Instagram, they did a Shining theme. It’s trite and cliche, but he’s very glad he recognises nothing about the locations. Not one of the Le Domas estates then.

He’s thinking about an escape to Europe, lying on the floor of his still mostly unfurnished penthouse, the news rolling constant coverage of Thanksgiving preparations, the fucking parade, family fucking movies taking up all the air time. Netflix has a collection of them. He’s been tempted to throw his television out the window, only they don’t open, and it seems like an oversight on his part, but planning on the part of his estate agent.

An indeterminate amount of time has passed since he laid down, just needing to be prone, the moment his phone rings.

He’s still not sure why he has it, why he answers it. It’s one of three people, and two of those people have no reason to phone him right then. If he’s honest, the third person calling him at all still makes no sense to him at all.

Even knowing it’s Grace, he still answers.

“Hey,” it’s the same every time, he’s honestly half waiting for the time she calls him, drunk and angry, screaming down the phone at him. Where she tells him all the things he knows he deserves to hear, how it should’ve been Alex, how it wasn’t fair, how he should’ve just told her before the wedding and let her run.

“How do I set up a non-profit?” It’s straight to the point, enough to shock Daniel for a few seconds before he shakes it off.

“The lawyers should be able to talk you through it, you can--”

“No, Daniel,” she cuts him off with a sigh, “I’ve tried, they just keep talking in circles about trusts and boards and all these terms I don’t understand.” It’s easy to forget that she’s not part of this world, he figures the lawyers are just so used to Tony and Becky hoarding all their money, making it multiply rather than giving it away. “Can you help me?”

Scrubbing a hand over his face he tries to get his thoughts together. He needs to shower, needs to change. He needs a fucking drink. “Yeah, I can. What’re you trying to set up?”

She has billions of dollars now, even with medical expenses and buying a house and whatever else, it wouldn’t make a dent. So she tells him about her idea to fund a non-profit organisation that helps underprivileged kids with school supplies, getting them meals when they aren’t in school, helping pay for clothes and any medical costs or child care. It’s all so fucking wholesome and _good_ that it almost makes him laugh to think of their devil cursed money helping educate liberal minded children of the next generation.

So he sets up a portfolio with her specifications, assigns money from the remaining company accounts along with whatever she’d thought to pledge on it, because why the fuck not, he’s not exactly doing anything with the accumulating wealth, he’s yet to tell Grace about her stocks and how she’ll likely still be gaining millions every year. 

A week later they’re on a video chat so that he can share her screen and transfer the documents, walk her through what they mean and who to send them to. He was right about her home, it’s a small but cosy house, somewhere disgustingly normal he’s sure, like Indianapolis or something.

Nothing he sees screams opulence, but he wouldn’t have pegged her for the kind. She’s got a cosy looking couch with numerous blankets strewn around, a warm looking stone fireplace, nothing like the massive marble ones that were all around the Le Domas ancestral home. There are plants around the place, he’s sure he sees a furry tail at one point.

It looks good for her.

She had switched to camera once he'd shown her what to do and what it all means. She’s sitting on a high back armchair, in a big knitted sweater. She’s cut her hair short, it’s in loose waves around her face, she looks tired, but not deeply so, like she could do with an extra hour here or there. But she doesn’t look haunted, terrified, broken.

He’s glad, really. He hopes it means she’s moving past it.

On the flip side, he’s let his hair get unruly, not just letting it curl in ways he knows annoyed Charity, his scruff is more down-and-out than anything else and he’s fairly sure he looks exactly how he feels. Grace, he’s sure, makes the excellent decision to not comment on his appearance.

“Where are you?” There’s a laugh in her voice, as she hugs a mug of something warm close to her. Maybe she’s a little further north, where it gets cold in the winter, but in a cosy kind of way rather than the depressing way.

“Home?” He glances behind himself, but realises that it’s all very bare. There’s nothing on the windows to stop light coming in at all hours the sun is up, the furniture is still very limited, he’s sitting at the kitchen island because he doesn’t have a coffee table or desk. “Oh um, new place.”

New in that he’d been there for over three months, he just hadn’t bothered with anything resembling _coping_. Aside from the alcohol and occasional take-away, he hasn’t bought anything. 

“It looks nice, spacious. Bright.” He still doesn’t do so good in the dark, so he just nods. There’s not a lot else to say. “I have to go, I---” It’s almost like she’s looking towards someone, maybe it’s just a fleeting glance, but he catches it, “I have a therapy appointment. Can I still call you? If I need some help?” He tells her of course, lets her thank him again for the help and they disconnect.

It was a fleeting admission, but he can understand the significance really. Therapy. Proof that she’s still working on getting through it, it’s not over yet. Hard to tell if it ever would be. But if he’s not _trying_ to get past it, how will he ever? It might not be fair, whatever it is, but this is what happened, and if he’s just going to haunt his own home, what’s the point?

He considers one of those fancy furniture stores his parents used. Antique items, grossly expensive furniture. In the end, he goes to Ikea for the first time in his life, and has to call his accountant to hire someone to get the stuff he buys and ship it to his home. She laughs at him and tells him she’ll get someone to build it too.

He would argue, but it’s not like he’s built a thing in his life so he just agrees.

By the end of the week he has furniture, it looks like someone lives there, rather than just his usual squatting. It’s nice, it’s normal, it’s like life before that night. Even if that life was messed up beyond all belief even then.

His downstairs neighbour brings him a casserole, thinking he’s just moved in. She’s a middle aged woman, her kids are starting college and her husband is some kind of hedge fund manager. He’s pretty sure she has no idea who he is, because when she finds out he has no family to speak of he’s instantly invited for family dinner at the weekend.

He declines, but follows instructions to heat up the casserole. It goes okay with the scotch and rewatching Mad Men.

It feels disgustingly normal.

* * *

It’s the third of December, he’s been sober for four days and he knows it’s primarily because he’s been doing things. Got a haircut, tidied himself up so that he doesn’t look like a hipster reject, he bought stuff finally. He hasn’t slept any better, still restless, still fitful, still chased by nightmares; but on the plus side he can remember what day of the week it is. He doesn’t expect Grace’s call though.

“Who’re the Bakers?”

He takes a few minutes to work it out, rolling through family connections in his head, the different groups that lived around the estate, the families that might’ve been connected to the Le Domas pact with Mr. Le Bail, and he’s so focused on that he almost missed the obvious.

“Oh, um, they’re… They’re Mom’s family.”

He’d been able to forget that there still was family -two grandparents, an uncle and one cousin- on his mother’s side of things. Made all the easier by the fact that he had little to no contact with them and it had been that way since before _his_ wedding. He thinks the last time he saw them was Emilie’s wedding, they hadn’t been around by the time Georgie was born, he vaguely remembers Emilie being annoyed they wouldn’t even send something.

“Are they…” Grace’s voice hints at the question, but she doesn’t ask it out loud. Maybe it’s too real to just come out and ask if the other end of the in-laws are Satanists too.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that.” His living grandparents aren’t terrible, all in all. They were judgey and pushy and never really saw why Becky wanted to marry Tony, you know, aside from the insane wealth. He knows that Becky was the second woman that his father had proposed to, he thinks it’s part of the story behind his mother’s parents disliking his dad. You know, aside from his awful personality. “There was just a falling out and they haven’t really been involved in much.”

“Right, so you got one of these too?”

“One of what?”

“The Christmas invitation?” He’s a little bit surprised that she got an invite to Christmas with a side of the family who had never met her, but then he remembers the news footage right after the house burnt down, how they focused so much on Grace and Alex’s sad and tragic love story and he figures that’s probably why they sent something to her.

“Um, no. No I didn’t, and I probably won’t.” It wouldn’t really matter that he literally had no other family left alive, they wouldn’t have invited him even if he’d been giving away billions to them. “It’s just a little family drama.” Even before whatever falling out happened between his grandparents and his mother, he wasn’t exactly _loved_ by that side of things either -it might’ve been the drinking and the fact that he purposely dated girls in college he knew would piss them off. He’d never forget their faces when he showed up with his gender studies feminist girlfriend on his second semester of college, not just because she was biracial but because she was vocally socialist and he was sure his grandfather’s head was going to explode. “They um… They’re not _bad_ people,” not in the way the Le Domas’ were, not in the sense that they’d kill her between courses or have her slaughter an animal for dinner, “they’re just kinda sucky.”

He knows that Grace wants a family, wants to belong somewhere, but he also knows that she’s not going to find that with the Baker’s either. She’s setting up organisations to help poor black kids get even half the shot that white kids get, that’s hardly going to be an enjoyable topic of conversation with his racist grandfather.

“Would it be as bad as the wedding?” Daniel is fairly sure that short of dying a million times in varied creative and unusual ways, nothing will be as bad as Grace’s wedding.

“No, but you might wish for a rousing game of hide and seek?” It feels flat, he’s not sure if they’re at the point where they can joke about it, where just the _song_ wouldn’t make him want to throw his guts up all over the floor, but it feels like the time to test the waters. Grace goes quiet and Daniel opts to slip past it, less they need to actually talk about the only thing that seems to tie them into each other's life. “They’re rich assholes, fairly standard rich assholes instead of the satanic kind, but assholes nonetheless.”

Grace deserves to never have to deal with their kind again.

“Guess it’s back to the drawing board for Christmas plans.” She doesn’t sound overly disappointed, he wonders if she would’ve been happy to go to his mom’s family for Christmas if he told them they were just an average blue blooded Southern bunch. “What are you up to?”

Honestly, he has no plans. He has no idea what to do, where to go. He thought about a trip to Australia to just by pass all the White Christmas bullshit that was going on in New York right then, but he’d never actually gotten around to it, and the notion of a 16 hour flight is enough to put him off it for now. But he’s not sure that he should tell Grace that he has no plans.

“I um, my neighbour invited me.” Which is true, Regina was still trying to get him to agree to weekend dinners, she let up a little after he cleaned up a little, looking less like a pathetic hobo, but she’d dropped the invitation in the elevator the other day, after he’d actually gone grocery shopping, by himself, to an actual supermarket. “Her family are having a small meal.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You… You wanna come?” He’s not really sure what makes him ask it, there’s never been an indication that anything beyond the telephone conversations, brief video chats for business advice or accounting information, nothing to say that she even wants to be in the same zip code as him. “It’s just the four of them.” Not a big gathering, not in a huge house either.

“Where are you?” It’s not a no, and she doesn’t sound overly hesitant either.

“Manhattan.” Big city, many people, no one he knows. Honestly, he lived there with Charity, although they were across the city in a stupidly large apartment for the two of them. He used to think it was because Charity was going to bring up _children_ , but realistically the bigger the place they had the easier they could avoid each other. 

But it’s not like it would be a problem to send the jet a few days before Christmas, and get a nice hotel, the benefit of having a gross amount of money.

“I’m in Queens.” Or she’s close enough that it doesn’t need to be a jet. Hmm. “What are they like?” So he spends some time talking to her about his downstairs neighbours, there’s only one apartment on each floor, it’s a pretty secure building but it’s not all stupidly snobbish families. Regina’s been nothing but nice every time they interact, he’s not even sure that she knows who he is and that’s fine really.

And like that he has plans for Christmas, informs Regina that he’d like to accept her invitation and asks if he can bring a friend. She seems a little shocked, and he doesn’t hold that against her because in the four months he’s lived there he’s barely interacted with anyone, so it makes sense to be surprised he actually knows anyone.

It means he has to shop for presents and, although it’s a little presumptive, he finally gets around to furnishing and decorating the guest room. He makes it an additional five days without a drink.

He tries not to analyse why he’s vaguely looking forward to actually seeing Grace again, trying to just put it down to checking up on her in ways that aren’t mild online stalking -technically one of the secretaries at the company showed him Grace’s Instagram the one time he’d stopped by, so it wasn’t like he’d gone _looking_ for it. Of course that does fall flat when he stops trying to lie to himself.

Somewhere in the numerous loops, trying to save this woman, and his brother, Daniel went from only caring that she got to live to wanting her to live well, be happy, do something. In the last four months it's just grown into some kind of genuine care for more than her happiness.

He’s not _thrilled_ by the realisation that, actually, he might’ve started to develop _interest_ in the woman his brother married. But it’s no less fucked up than he expects of himself at this point.

The echoes of his dream that night, of Alex with the knife in hand, plunging into Grace’s chest, rivers of blood, push him to self medicate all over again.

* * *

Christmas at the Le Domas estate was always an _event_. Every room was decorated, the house was done up like one of those stupid magazines, his parents have all these events all the way through the month. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around they were all sick of it.

It was cool, when they were younger, seeing all the lights and the decorations, even if they knew better than to touch. They never really bothered with the whole ‘what do you want’ thing, since they had literally everything they could ever ask for, but their parents often just got them whatever was the most expensive, newest thing. Emilie got a pony when she was 10. 

Before Uncle Charles’ fateful game of Hide and Seek, Aunt Helene hadn’t been so distant, so severe, so fucking crazy. She’d gotten Daniel a complete collection of encyclopaedias. Tony had been unamused, but Aunt Helene had known early that Daniel just liked looking up what things were, what it meant, what they did.

The following year she got engaged.

He’d never really been good at getting gifts. He’d only ever bought Charity fancy designer stuff, but she always dropped the hints like bricks, so he was just throwing money at whatever she wanted. He was better with his siblings, sure, but they grew up together, he knew them better. Knew that Alex liked astrology and old movies, knew that Emilie liked spas and painting.

Beyond that it never really seemed like it was worth it; he never really put thought into gifts for his parents, they likely knew that, but after he hit 12 they didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he wasn’t living up to their expectations, so why put in the effort?

With Regina’s kids, he tries. He doesn’t know much about them; twin boys, in college, athletic but smart. It sometimes smarts a little when he hears Regina talk about her kids. Not in any kind of bad way, not really, just in the sense that she reminds him sometimes of his mom. Not as she was, definitely not in appearance or mannerisms. Little things, really. The affection she has in her voice when she mentions how Taylor is doing at college or what Malcolm’s plans are after football, the gleam in her eye when she’s just asked about them. He’s well aware that Becky rarely if ever had that kind of affection for her kids, maybe for Alex, possibly Emilie after her rebellious phase. His phase lasted too long to really foster any of that.

His hand goes to the scar at his neck every time he thinks about it.

So he knows enough not to get something ridiculous, but they’re also teenage boys. Regina and her husband are well enough off, not Le Domas well off, but comfortable -which is how rich people downplay how rich they are. They don’t spoil the kids rotten, Daniel’s aware of that, but it’s not like they’re stingy. In the end, he buys the pair of them a set of air pods and Amazon gift cards, because what the hell does he know about teenage boys? He buys some perfume he’s noticed Regina wears, not fancy enough to be a husband gift, and a nice scarf and picks up a fancy bottle of scotch for her husband -Dwayne, or Wayne, he thinks it’s Dwayne. 

Grace is different.

He spends long enough wondering if she’ll want a gift, then worrying that it’s stupid to wonder. He hasn’t really been bothering her too much, keeping himself on the outskirts of her life because he’s sure that he’s part of the reason she’s in therapy twice a week. But to be safe, in case he’s the only one she sees over the holidays, he buys her gifts -a camera for the photography he’s noticed she’s taken up, some of those throws she has around her house, some fancy coffee he thinks she’d like.

He thinks he can play it off as being concerned she doesn’t get to enjoy the holidays.

It’s not like they’re _close_. But he went through countless repeats of one night, trying to save this woman, and realisations of his own psyche aside, he’s managed to become somewhat observant.

So much so that he knows it’s not just about _stuff_. He loses about two days on another present, not exactly something for everyone and he’s not even sure how to tell her about it, but it feels like something to do.

When December 22nd rolls around, and Grace texts him to let him know she’s on her way, Daniel almost wishes he hadn’t cut down on the drinking this week.

* * *

They’d somewhat awkwardly agreed that it’d be easier for Grace to stay at his place while she was there. Since the point was not to spend the holidays alone.

To everyone in the outside world, they’re still in-laws, tied together through Grace’s marriage to his brother, even if it was just for one night, and the trauma that unfolded. He knows that Grace doesn’t see them as in-laws anymore, she feels separate from that. Her last words to Alex were asking for a divorce after all.

They have tentative plans; going to a show, something Grace wants to see but doesn’t know if she’ll make it through, a dinner reservation, she wants to go see some of the Christmas trees that have been put up in the park. Daniel can’t say he’s been out much, it’s different really from what life was. He’s slowly started working again, although that’s mostly been to pull certain games from production in the company and discontinue the use of Le Bail in many new designs -they’re moving into online apps and video games, because who the hell still plays board games? Satanists, that’s who.

But out in the real world, it’s still very new and odd to have removed himself from the society circles his parents used to keep.

He’s notified of Grace’s arrival with a text and he unlocks the elevator for her to get off on his floor. Handy safety measures, even though anyone who’d care to bother him is dead now. Daniel meets her by the door, letting her wheel the suitcase in and then mildly surprised when she goes for the hug.

“Hey,” she’s brighter than the last time he saw her in person -in the ambulance, where she was exhausted and covered in all kinds of gore. She’s let her hair grow to her shoulders, left it loose and wavy, there’s still something in her eyes, but Daniel would probably be more worried if she looked like she had before the wedding. “Oh, this place looks better.”

“Apparently man cannot live without furniture.” He doesn’t hate it, it looks nothing like anything he would’ve had before, and that’s the point. The kitchen opens into the sitting area, no blind spaces at all, and that leads off towards the bedrooms and bathrooms. Like most of the larger Manhattan buildings, all the windows have that privacy setting, where no one can see in from the other side, so Daniel never bothered with blinds or drapes or whatever else, letting sunlight, moonlight or just New York light in at all hours. “Were you worried you’d be spending your holiday period making me a functioning adult?”

He’s barely been a functioning anything his entire life. He did fine as far as the alcoholism and working went, primarily because he didn’t really do a lot of anything when it came to working. Yes, he worked at his father's company, nepotism at its finest, but it wasn’t like he was trusted with anything too serious. He managed accounts, funnelled money here and there, covered up certain things, dealt with some but not all of the family investments -it was probably the one thing Tony thought he was good at.

“It crossed my mind,” he can tell she’s teasing from the tone, so he doesn’t bother thinking too much on it; he knows he’s been a wreck, he’s still occasionally a wreck, she basically only knows him as a wreck.

It hits him then that maybe this was all a terrible idea; they have nothing in common aside from _that night_ , he’s honestly reminded so much clearer of everything that happened just seeing her in person, the way she’s wandering the room indicates that she’s probably just as uncomfortable too. There’s a weird tension, no real topics of conversation that aren’t ‘so hey, how are you now that my family aren’t trying to murder you?’ 

Alex never really told them what she did, what she was interested in, and Daniel’s starting to see the controlling aspects his brother had that he’d just been blind to. Daniel knows how Alex and Grace met, he knows when Alex asked her to move in with him, where he proposed -of course Daniel had been asking if that was a good idea, but apparently people had long engagements these days -that was never going to happen. For a while, Daniel had thought the secrecy was to keep Grace safe; Alex was largely estranged by then, he’d pulled away a little while before he met Grace, Daniel assuming that Alex had achieved the impossible.

And yet. Reality is a cruel bitch.

In a sense, it’s not like he can blame Alex for wanting to keep Grace to himself, he just doesn’t think his brother had the right reasons for it anymore. Because Grace _is_ good, and Daniel can see why Alex would think she could make him better, she’s genuine and caring and fucking strong. Surviving what she did and not being a fucking mess shows how damn strong she is. But Alex gave her a facade, and lied, and pretended and then crumbled under pressure. Daniel’s willing to shoulder his part in that, never really leaving Alex to deal with any real conflict himself, sheltering Alex from the worst of it. Accepting the fact that if his parents thought the sun shone out of Alex’s ass then maybe he wouldn’t bear the brunt like Daniel did.

“It’s a little weird, right?” He’s not surprised that Grace picks up on things; she’s smart, something Tony never would’ve seen under the pretty package.

“Just a touch. I’m honestly shocked you opted to stay in the same state as me, never mind visit for the holidays.” He’s still waiting for her to cut all ties, tell him to leave her alone, change all her contact information and disappear. He wouldn’t blame her, he wonders if this is some double trauma stuff that’s going on, but it’s not like he’s gotten as far as actual therapy himself. He’s a little worried that if he starts he won’t be able to stop talking.

“Right, because the _one_ good thing from that night and I’d want to put a country between us?” She does it again, looking at him like she sees something completely different and Daniel gets that uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck. “Do you want me to go stay in a hotel? I mean, I know why I don’t mind your company but if this is too much for you…”

He’s belatedly reminded again that he let his whole family die so she could live. That he was an active participant in allowing his own family to die, so that she didn’t. He feels the lack of guilt at that, and it makes him feel guilt over not feeling guilty. It’s a fucked up, twisted feeling in his gut that makes compartmentalising everything necessary. But one fact remains, “You’re worth ten of them,” even Alex, maybe, sometimes, in the really deep, dark holes he doesn’t like to dwell in, _especially_ Alex. “I still don’t have any regrets.” She started mattering more than his family a good while before the end of her wedding night, but it’s not like he can explain that.

It’s quiet for a moment, but not the awkward quiet from before. She shoots him one of her genuine smiles, something he only ever saw when she was looking at Alex, during the wedding, before everything went tits up. Even with his gut clenching just a little, it’s impossible not to give her a tight smile back before shaking everything off and finishing showing her around.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, he’s plagued by nightmares.

It’s not like he sleeps much in general, if he can get twenty hours in a week he counts it as solid progress. Some nights it’s easier to push them away and at least rest, usually on the couch with some random Netflix show on for background noise that keeps him from falling back into twisted memories.

There are times when it’s hard to remember what the reality of the event was, the sequence that was ultimately what occurred. Given how many times he went through the motions of that night, reworking each and every step or just repeating them. From time to time he feels the phantom pains of bullets that never landed, his gut getting warm and uncomfortable, pain blooming in his chest, the headache to end all headaches. He figures it’s possible that Mr. Le Bail wasn’t letting him get away with things that easily, least of all with several of the money makers that had his face on them being yanked from production.

It’s Alex in the dreams, obviously. His widow or ex-wife, depending on who you talk to, in flesh and blood in Daniel’s penthouse, the memories have obviously been shaken loose. They’re never far from the surface, but he can push back from them usually. Not tonight, and it’s enough to draw him out to the balcony, large glass of scotch in hand, staring at the lights of New York. It’s easier to remember where he is, with the cool air of New York and the noise of the city that never seems entirely silent, rather than the image of Alex, plunging a knife into a still beating heart, over and over again.

“Hey,” it’s less surprising that Grace finds him there, hours before dawn, “you okay?” She’s pulled on some warmer clothes, braved the New York winter air to join him on the balcony, and Daniel should be more aware that he’s standing on cold concrete in his flannel bottoms and a light t-shirt.

“Yeah,” they both know he isn’t, the slight tremble in his hand likely gives that away, but Grace barely takes a few seconds before she’s leaning against his side, draping some of her fluffy blanket over him.

“I get them too.” Of course she does. “Sometimes it’s just faces, lots of blood and running,” she keeps her voice low, soft, like he’ll skitter off at the first loud noise. “Other times it’s really vivid memories, your Aunt, your mom.” All of the vying for her blood, to slaughter her on her wedding night. “Most of the time it’s Alex.”

Most of the time, the mere mention of Alex is painful.

He feels a little hollow this time.

“It’s usually him for me too.” He’s never mentioned the nightmares to anyone, it’s hard to explain. “I probably should’ve seen it coming.” It’s Christmas, Grace is there, Daniel’s dealing with twisted emotions, why wouldn’t Alex pop up in his subconscious.

They stand in relative silence until Grace decides they’ll die of pneumonia if they don’t go inside. Most of the morning is spent on the couch with more blankets than he thinks he owns. She puts on Nailed It and they just sit, Daniel hardly touching the scotch with Grace leaning into his side, but he feels less shaky after a while anyway.

* * *

Dinner is unexpectedly comfortable.

The restaurant is nice, it’s not overly crowded and he and Grace finally get around to those questions that normal people ask each other; she used to be a secretary for a community college, running different programs for scholarship students and advocating for better access for poor students. She seems a little bit surprised to find out that he doesn’t just exist and is actually a CPA. “I think I was meant to, eventually, be the financial manager for the company.” When Alex took Dad’s place, since they all knew that Daniel would support Alex better than he would’ve with anyone else. If there was one thing his parents never really doubted in him, it was how far he’d go for Alex.

Apparently that didn’t extend to murder.

They share a bottle of wine, Daniel avoids the harder alcohol, Grace raises an eyebrow when he turns down a ‘nightcap’ but he waves it off. It’s not like he’s sober, he’s just a little less of an alcoholic at the moment. He hasn’t worked up the belief that it’ll last though.

It’s nice though, being outside, doing something _normal_. Grace ignores the stares, the veiled looks, so Daniel avoids being too much of an asshole.

By the time they join Regina and her family for dinner on Christmas Eve, he and Grace are far less tense around each other, like they are actually friends, like they can pretend they just met each other one day and got talking.

He’s lightly chastised for buying gifts, but Regina also bestows a house plant upon him, because she mistakenly believes he’s capable of taking care of anything. It’s midway through the main meal that one of the twins notices Grace’s scar. “What happened to your hand?” Conversation hushes, but Daniel catches the look Regina shoots at her son.

Grace doesn’t seem phased.

“Oh, it’s okay, I um, I got shot, through the palm.” She raises it to show the smaller scar on the palm. It’s a rather gnarly looking wound still, the skin over the back of her hand puckered and silvery, probably because of skin grafts. Daniel knows that her middle finger is stiff, awkward to move at times. The palm is a little less clearly damaged, but there’s still the soft circle of scar tissue there.

Daniel hadn’t ever been sure how much Regina did or didn’t know about who he was. It’s not like their mailboxes have names on them.

“I am so sorry about Taylor,” the kids left after the meal was finished, for all that two college boys can be called ‘kids’, but they linger at the table with the wine again. “I did tell them not to ask about,” she glances at Daniel, at his neck, just where his shirt collar hides the starburst scar from where his mother’s arrow ripped at his throat. “Well, about what happened.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” Grace is still loose and upbeat, waving off Regina’s discomfort, “it’s natural to ask questions, it’s not like people can’t google it.” It was a big story for a few weeks, an entire family wiped out, and over classist sentiments. It was a wet dream for some of those news sites that was all about ‘eat the rich’, claiming that it showed just how above the law these people believed they were. Neither he nor Grace ever commented on it though and soon the whole thing died down.

He at least waits until he’s upstairs to pour a glass of scotch, knocking this one back in one go.

“You never told them that you were a Le Domas, did you?” Daniel just shakes his head at her question. It’s not like he bothers telling anyone much of anything anymore. “My therapist encourages me to talk about it, to own my trauma, she says.” Grace settles on the couch, Daniel pouring another drink just for something to do, before turning to face her. “I feel like I do okay, I’m not advertising who I am,” she still hasn’t legally changed her name from Le Domas, he knows that much. “But sometimes,” Grace chews at her nail bed, mulling over something before she fixes him under a focused gaze, “I just wanna be Grace again.” 

Daniel’s not sure he can relate to that. But he can understand the motivation behind it; she was always going to be Grace, the Le Domas bride now, people were always going to ask, or at least relate her back to what had happened. It’s a somewhat depressing thought.

“God, look at us, we’re supposed to be celebrating Christmas.” Shaking herself out of things, Grace looks a little sheepish before she moves, fishing something from under the couch, “I got you a gift.” Ah, that explains the expression. Scratching the back of his head, placing down the glass, Daniel tries to not feel awkward.

“Yeah I, um, I got you something too.” He realised later that he’d been kind of stupid, got too much, did too much. Especially given she was his brother’s widow/ex-wife. So he picks up the box with the camera, figures he can have one of the company associates mail the other stuff to her, but he takes the folder with the other thing and leaves it on the kitchen island too.

They swap boxes, but she arches her eyebrow at the probably over the top wrapping of hers, “Some habits take a while to break.” It had been something that Becky practically demanded they learn, for appearances of course. Alex was _terrible_ at wrapping and Emilie made a solid effort, but for whatever reason, Daniel was just good at working out spaces and how to fold. His affinity for things _looking_ tidy, organised, like they fit just right, naturally led him well enough through life, even if it never really applied to his life.

She seems pleased with the camera, the digital and more traditional options it has, letting her actually print out some of her images if she wants to. He’s aware that it gives away his lowkey social media stalking, but Grace doesn’t seem to mind terribly.

When he opens his, a heavy box that’s largely just tied with a ribbon, he’s stunned to find a small collection of encyclopaedias. Even after Uncle Charles, when Helene withdrew and got gradually more colder and darker and fanatical, Daniel had treasured the gift.

“Once I asked Alex to tell me things about you and Emilie,” because he refused to talk about family, because he never introduced them before the wedding, because Alex liked to think he’d removed himself from them all. “He said you liked to read encyclopaedias.” He can tell that Alex probably said it in a way that made Daniel sound like the weirdo, because Alex never really understood the logic in it.

“Yeah,” he knows it’s not a full collection -it’d be too heavy to bring from Queens, but the fact that she remembered a throw away detail that Alex likely downplayed to the ends of the earth. It causes that weird prickling again, the attention she’s clearly paid, the thought that went into it. “Thanks, these are great.”

His original set burnt to ashes with his family home.

“Too much?” Grace looks unsure, and Daniel wants to reassure her, but he’s not really sure how. He shakes his head, taking a breath to get himself together.

“No, it… They’re wonderful, really, just… Memories.” Which he hadn’t dealt with, he really didn’t deal with a lot when he put it into perspective. It might be part of the problem with the whole moving forward thing. They finish up the evening with the television, and there’s the chance that they’re both putting off actually going to bed, but neither comment on it.

* * *

Sometime between 3am and dawn, he’s startled awake. 

At first he thinks it’s a nightmare, but then he hears the crash and realises it’s not his nightmare. The space between his room and the guest room isn’t that far, one corridor, across the wall. There’s basically a bathroom between them and it doesn’t exactly drown out the noise.

She’s in a strange place, and they talked about a few uncomfortable memories the night before, he figures it’d only be right to check and see that Grace is okay. He knocks on the bedroom door and pauses before entering, just in case. The room is still mostly dark, save for one beside light and Daniel notices the glass at the far end of the room and the water on the wall.

“Y’okay?” The way Grace is trying to catch her breath reminds him a little of the times he’d entered the study to find her cowering against the wall. Sharp inhales to try and be as quiet as possible while panicking.

It feels safe to assume that she had a nightmare about that night.

“He was standing… he was standing right there.” Hallucinations were the worst, somewhere between awake and dreaming and it’s like they can get you, like they’ll come right out of the wall and just pull you down to the depths with them and there’s no clawing out. He gets that.

“Let me get a brush.” Does he own a brush? Did he buy anything to do proper cleaning with? He knew he had a duster, primarily because the sheer notion of hiring a maid had him throwing up, once, right back during the early Fall.

“Wait,” but Grace’s hand reaches out, pulling her a little off the bed to grab his wrist and halt him. “Will you just, I mean, can you stay a minute, I just need to remember where I am.” Strange place, he figured. But Daniel nodded, shifting just a little bit uncomfortable before he figured it was more important to offer comfort than be uneasy, and sat on the bed to let her lean against his shoulder.

“Sure, whatever helps.” Stacy, his accountant who tended to act more like a personal assistant to a man not used to living in ‘the real world’, often told him that therapy was a grand idea and he might learn a few things. He never really cut her off, but he wasn’t yet at the point of taking it seriously. At least not for himself. The excuses were starting to wear thin, even to his own ears. But he knew that Grace partook in the therapy, in the act of securing mental health and all that. He wasn’t entirely sure where this fell under it all, but presumably talking helped? “You want to talk about it?”

She’d asked him that in the past -Emilie’s birthday, first one to crop up, he’d managed to get through Helene’s birthday without noticing and blamed that entirely on people forgetting that Helene still had birthdays and wasn’t actually a creepy vampire or ghoul.

“I just,” there’s a heavy sigh, Grace shifting around and pulling Daniel with her, he’s not sure if she notices, but he figures she just wants to be comfortable. He ends up leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out down the middle of the bed and Grace curling a little towards his shoulder as she burrows among covers. “I have periods where I think I’m doing really well, I don’t think about what happened, or really focus on how that night was so terrifying. I can forget how nice your Mom was at first, how I had thought ‘hey, I could finally have a maternal support figure’ and I just believed that we’d be happy. I don’t flinch or get scared in crowds, I can go weeks without thinking how I used to share everything with…”

One of the hardest parts was getting used to being alone.

Sure, he wasn’t exactly in married bliss with Charity, they had their moments, but it was largely just a marriage in so much as they lived together and she spent his money. But they were together; at events, for dinner, at gatherings, for the office. He might not have loved her but there was a shared affinity there; her snark was on par with his, she had biting comebacks for just about everything, she was challenging in more than just bad ways. Getting used to not having that, even just arguing with her, was a process.

But Grace _had_ loved Alex. Had laughed with him, enjoyed spending time with him, shared her hobbies and interests, and talked about her day. They probably had those sickeningly romantic dates and cooked together and what have you. She went from all those joyful, normal moments with a partner, to being on her own without the real descent towards a break up. Coupled with him trying to kill her and then exploding, he can see why it would take some adjusting to.

“I just want to stop being scared all the time.” Her hand is sitting over his lap, and Daniel just takes it between his, stroking his thumb over the slightly raised skin from her scar and the surgeries to fix her hand. “I feel safer here than in my own home right now.”

That really seems like something she should address, because who ever felt safer _with him_?

There’s silence for a while, because Daniel has nothing to say to that at all, but Grace’s breathing slowly evens out and Daniel realises she’s fallen back asleep against him. It’s a little weird to realise that he doesn’t mind, it’s comfortable enough that he’s fine to just sit there, let her rest. He’s aware enough to know _feelings_ ; the fact that he’s oddly touched that Grace feels safe enough to relax in his presence, his own contentedness to wait this nap or sleep cycle out in one place, that gut clench when she nuzzles just slightly into his shoulder.

Daniel isn’t exactly sure if he’s ever really felt _love_. He dated a fair bit in college, without the oversight of his parents deciding if someone wasn’t high class enough. It wasn’t like he was surrounded by so called undesirables, he went to an upscale college, obviously. Most of the people around him were in the same vein of social standing. But like his liberal feminist girlfriend in his first year, Daniel wasn’t bothered about finding uptight women who wouldn’t hold their own with his family. It was part of what had initially drawn him to Charity.

But even with his wife, it likely wasn’t _love_ , given how easily she killed him in the end.

He’s also fairly certain that’s not what _this_ is, whatever this even is. But there’s the impression with him that, maybe it’d be possible.

Oddly it’s not as scary as he’d think.

* * *

Somewhere during the night he fell asleep, waking when he hears noises from the kitchen and discovering that Grace had tucked him into her bed at some point. He stops off in his own room before heading to the kitchen, settling at the island and watching Grace open and shut cabinets looking for whatever she’s looking for. “Don’t you have a spatula?”

He couldn’t say, honestly. He bought stuff, but it didn’t mean he bought everything or even that he knew what all he needed. “Check the drawer across from the sink,” he shoved a bunch of things in there, after his eye opening and mildly traumatising visit to Ikea.

Apparently it’s the right place, and Grace brandishes a brand new spatula with glee before turning back to the cooker that is probably seeing it’s fourth or fifth use right now. “So, I couldn’t help but notice the booklet.” She nods towards the _other_ present he hadn’t gotten around to showing her last night, sitting in a new location but still closed. “Was that…”

“Um, yeah, it’s … I dunno, I just thought it’d be something good, you know. I was gonna name it after mom and dad and give them one last fuck you, but what kid needs that behind them?” The whole thing was a spur of the moment and Daniel didn’t exactly think it through, but he decided not to attach anything Le Domas other than their money to the program.

“That’s so thoughtful.” She plates up whatever she’s cooking -bacon from the smell of it- and grabs a jug of orange juice from the fridge. “Why foster kids?” There are pancakes, bacon and optional syrup -he didn’t realise he’d bought syrup- and Daniel can only stall for so long when it comes to explanations.

“Alex let slip you came out of foster care, aged out really.” He’d funnelled a large portion of investment money into a program that was in the process of being implemented in all states, something to fund more foster care homes, better education and training, and supplies for kids. Even he had heard that foster care could be bad sometimes; over crowded, underfunded, lack of oversight, all those fun things that kids shouldn’t have lumped on them. “You’re a billionaire, it’s not like you need _stuff_.”

She halts the flippant dismissal of things with a hand on his knee, catching his attention and stopping him from just playing it off as ‘here’s another charity for you’, he didn’t know if Grace came from a bad home or few homes or if the process was just too impersonal for her. But he knew she wanted a family, to belong somewhere, and the odds were it stemmed from not belonging anywhere as a child.

“Thank you, Daniel.” There’s that smile again, his throat closes up, not unlike when an arrowhead sliced through it, but the drop in his stomach has nothing to do with impending doom or satanic sacrifice.

He does not see the kiss coming.

It’s nothing terribly fancy, given they’re sitting next to each other he reasons there’d be no tell that she was planning it. But Grace’s hand squeezes his knee quickly, keeping his attention before she leans over and presses a soft and quick kiss against his lips. She somehow still manages to smile through it.

He feels like he should ask, why she did it, what it meant, anything really. But words definitely aren’t forthcoming at the moment -which is decidedly unusual for him, since he has a quip for just about everything, including, but not limited to a family game of murder the new bride.

“C’mon,” Grace deters any discussion, nudging his side, “it’s Christmas morning and I want to see the trees in the park.”

So they eat breakfast, and they wrap up, and they wander through Central Park in the middle of winter to see various trees decorated in various ways. Somewhere through the morning they get hot chocolate and by the time they’re walking back to the penthouse, Grace has cuddled herself in against his side, trying to siphon heat but mostly just hugging him.

Daniel isn’t sure what it is, or what it means, but for now, he’s okay not analysing it too much.

* * *


End file.
